


insatiable

by wakandawinterprincess



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Aged-Up Character(s), And she Survived, Cap and the Avengers stayed in Wakanda, F/M, Me being horny basically, PWP, Shuri is an Adult, and then begged me for a multi-chapter, anyways I hope this is worth the ticket to hell bc I'm right here with ya, except then my horniness developed feelings and a plot, set five years after IW aka seven/eight years after BP, set post-IW, so you know... here we are
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2019-09-29 10:31:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17201840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wakandawinterprincess/pseuds/wakandawinterprincess
Summary: He’d been called God’s righteous man, once before. Steve knows now that nothing could be further from the truth.Because aftereverythingthey’ve lost, hestillsomehow has enough selfishness in him to want her.





	1. insatiable

**Author's Note:**

> For aesthetic purposes and general reading pleasure, I would like to ask the readers to pretend that Cap didn’t shave off his glorious beard from IW. If that’s not your cup of tea, please consider: literally any other look that doesn’t involve the receding hairline from A4. (#salty)
> 
>  
> 
> Also, ‘The Decimation’ = The Snap, in MCUverse terminology.
> 
>  
> 
> In this AU, Shuri lived and became the Queen of Wakanda, and the Avengers stayed there, too.

 

Steve never really learned how to deal with his emotions properly. Never truly figured out just _what_ to do, when the thoughts became too loud and too many to handle.

 

So the last five years after the Decimation have been living hell, more or less. An exercise in patience, something he’s running short of.

 

For as long as he could remember, his alternative to thinking was simple: punching. Preferably, punching the hell out of a punching bag.

 

Which is precisely what he’s doing now, inside the small private studio gym allotted to him. At two-in-the- _fucking_ -morning.

 

Because you know. To hell with sleep.

 

He’s just finished one particularly intense set of blows (he’s lost track of how many sets he’s done, really) when he hears a polite cough at the door.

 

Visitors are uncommon, but in this case, he sees her before she even enters, catches the half-hidden reflection of her regal form on the mirrors lining the studio walls.

 

He has to suppress a groan, in spite of himself. And internally, he prepares for trouble.

 

Because of course, it would be _her_. The _last_ person he wanted to see, and the very source of his frustration, currently.

 

It’s none other than the Queen of Wakanda. _Shuri_.

 

“Captain.”

 

Her voice is cool, unassuming. But he knows her well enough by now to detect the slight tinge of loathe in her tone, and he _knows_ a storm is brewing.

 

One he's _definitely_ not ready for.

 

Steve tries to slow his heavy breathing to something more respectable, more worthy of her presence and stature, before he replies.

 

“Your Highness.” he acknowledges, turning to face her at last.

 

He nods, so she knows she can enter. Not that she ever needed his permission.

 

Nevertheless, Shuri waits another beat before she walks in.

 

The minute he lays eyes on her, he’s glad she did, because while she is always dressed to kill, Steve finds that in her current getup, his mind stops functioning for a minute.

 

She’s wearing a tight white dress, (one, he notes off-handedly, with fluttering sleeves so light, they seem like they might slip off her shoulders’ at a moment’s notice), hair pulled up into an intricate, swirling design, and dark eyes _blazing_ with righteous anger.

 

Anger, he’s pretty sure, is about to be directed towards _him_.

 

Shit.

 

“Now’s not a good time...” he starts, but she cuts him off before he can think of a proper excuse to avoid _this_. Whatever this is.

 

“ _Actually_ ,” she interjects, voice laced with venom, “I think now is a great time, _Captain_.”

 

She turns on him, and he can now see the barely-controlled rage written all over her face, all previous inhibitions finally, _completely_ dropped.

 

 

(He does them both a favor and shuts up.)

 

 

 

“You've been avoiding me. For over a week.” she says simply.

 

It’s not a question. Just a statement of fact.

 

“ _Why?_ ”

 

He doesn’t say anything. In the moment, it’s just too much.

 

Because how does he explain to her that he simply _can’t_ be around her?

 

Where would he even _begin_?

 

Perhaps he would tell her it had started innocently enough. How, in the aftermath of the Decimation, he’d watched her grow from a girl into a woman. From a young, nervous princess to a strong, confident leader.

 

 

 

But then, what it had _become_? How would he explain that?

 

How somewhere, _sometime_ , in between late nights and short, miserable days, something within him had _stirred_? How, just a stray glance from her is enough to shake him to his damn core?

 

That he’s avoiding her, because he no longer trusts himself around her?

 

 

 

No. He _can’t_.

 

So he remains silent.

 

 

Shuri frowns.

 

“Captain, you were brought here to Wakanda under very _specific_ conditions. You accepted those conditions -- nobody forced your hand.”

 

Which is true. After the Decimation, he’d come to Wakanda with what was left of the Avengers. Had sworn his allegiance, to her and the throne, in exchange for her help, without a second thought.

 

Because with the world crumbling at their feet, _together_ is what they needed.

 

Over _anything_ else.

 

She continues.

 

“I will _not_ have you avoiding me.” she finishes coolly. “It’s not right.”

 

_This,_ of course, is where she’s wrong.

 

What isn’t right is the fact that he let his feelings get this far. That after months and months of being angry and sad and _numb_ all the time, he let his heart latch onto _her_.

 

That, in and of itself, was a mistake.

 

Not just because of her age, or because of the dynamics of their relationship.

 

No. This is because of something _much_ worse.

* * *

 

You see, Steve had heard the rumors. Of the closeness, of the _friendship_ , between the then-princess and her White Wolf, long before he’d ever met Shuri in person.

 

Even if he somehow hadn’t -- the conversations he’d had with Barnes before the Decimation, however few and far in between, were enough for him to catch on.

 

The _way_ his best friend visibly lit up when he spoke about her -- according to him, Shuri was brilliant, charming, absolutely _wonderful_. He’d been around for over a century, on and off ice, but he’d never met anyone quite like her.

 

Maybe Bucky didn’t know at the time, but Steve -- oh, he _knew_.

 

He’d figured his friend out in a heartbeat.

 

That man had loved her, plain and simple. And from the sounds of it, she had loved him, too.

 

Knowing all that, what they had now felt… dirty, somehow. _Corrupted_.

 

Replacing the rumors of the White Wolf now came chatter of the Captain’s _loyalty_ to the Queen. The whispers, of late nights and longing stares. One-sided. Always from him.

 

At least, that’s what he thinks. There are fleeting, stolen moments where she looks up at him from under a fringe of dark lashes with a certain _glint_ in her eyes. It’s in those moments that a  small, traitorous part of his heart can’t help but hope she feels something, _anything_ , for him too.

 

But the feeling always passes. He remembers that she loved someone _else_.

 

Steve sees her staring after him sometimes, and wonders just _who_ it is that she sees.

* * *

 

There’s only one thing he’s certain of.

 

He’d been called God’s righteous man, once before. Steve knows now that nothing could be further from the truth.

 

Because after _everything_ they’ve lost, he _still_ somehow has enough selfishness in him to want her.

* * *

Her voice brings him back to reality.

 

“What are you hiding from me?” she finishes, and he can see the changed look in her eyes now, half-angry, half-pleading. “And _why_?”

 

The rational part of his brain, however tiny, is screaming at him to _shut up_. Let her berate him all she’d like, he ought to politely, respectfully, reveal nothing. It’s the easy, safe way out.

 

But he’s still angry and upset and, well, he’s _always_ had problems with authority, hasn’t he?

 

“I can’t answer that question. Or the one before that.” he replies, trying his best to look unaffected. But he _knows_ she can hear the sardonic hint in his voice. And it pisses her _off_.

 

She wants answers for _all_ of it, he knows. Why he rarely lets himself be alone around her. Why he holds her when she cries, then pretends that nothing ever happened when the morning arrives. Why he holds back, when all she’s ever wanted from him is _honesty_ in all things.

 

Shuri practically seethes at him, now.

 

“ _Why_? I am your _queen_.”

 

She moves in closer, and now she’s all but invaded his space, frustration tinging her voice clearly as she continues:

 

“What’s going on? What are you _afraid_ of?”

 

 

At _last_ , he loses his temper. Practically shouts out his next words:

 

“I can’t answer your questions, Shuri. And I sure as hell don’t want to do something we’ll _both_ regret.”

 

“Like _what,_ Steve?” she yells, and he doesn’t even know if it’s the fact that she’s addressed him as _Steve_ for the first time in his life or the fact that she’s all up in his space or the fact that her heavy breathing now matches his, but something in his brain fucking _snaps_.

 

And that’s when he kisses her.

 

 

 

He doesn’t even fully comprehend what he’s doing until it’s already _far_ too late: he grabs her face in his hands and presses his mouth roughly against hers.

 

Tongue. Lips. Teeth.

 

It’s as if he’s been _possessed_.

 

He feels her lips move against his. Gentle, subtle, but it’s _there_.

 

_What?_

 

She pulls away first, pushing him off with _far_ more strength in her small frame than he’d ever remembered her having.

 

For split second, he’s _certain_ that he’s crossed a line.  

 

He’s surprised, really, that he isn’t met with the sobering slap he’d expected (and most certainly deserved).

 

He takes a step back regardless, fully expecting her to lash out.

 

But that’s not what happens.

 

For a fraction of a second, she just stands there, swaying as she finds her balance, face completely unreadable.

 

And then, it shifts.

 

Shuri makes a little sound of indignation, low in her throat, and then _she’s_ the one lunging forward, pulling him down by the collar of his shirt and kissing him, _hard_.

 

Her kiss is hot and greedy and _possessive,_ like nothing he’s ever experienced before.

 

She all but _forces_ her tongue into his mouth, and he’s taken aback for a moment before he matches her movements, pulls her in by her waist and kisses her until she moans under him in a way that heats his insides.

 

Steve’s losing his mind quickly now, and it’s not long before his hands travel further down, down, down. He gropes her ass through the thin material of her dress shamelessly, _finally_ getting to feel her perfect, delicate curves under his fingers, as he’d dreamed of doing so many times before, and revels in the pleasured hum he draws from her lips.

 

Hardly a gentlemanly thing to do, he supposes, but they’ve long since crossed the boundaries of niceties expected between a Queen and Captain. He can’t find it in himself to care, anymore.

 

He’s a lecherous old man in a young man’s body, that’s all he is. If that.

 

But she _wants_ him, too. That thought alone is enough to make him hot and desperate for her, to pull away and press furious kisses into her neck and jaw until she’s thoroughly wound up and melting in his arms.

 

Steve feels her defenses drop for him, slowly but surely: hears her gasp when he pulls down the sleeves of her dress to expose her shoulders before leaving bruising bites there, feels her swallow thickly as she winds one hand in his hair before dragging his lips back up to hers in a searing, hungry kiss.

 

The heat between them grows.

 

At last, Shuri hooks one slender leg around him mid-kiss, a small noise of frustration lodged in her throat. Steve takes the cue.

 

He lifts her easily and carries her so that in one fluid motion, they’re both on the hardwood floor, her tiny frame easily enclosed by his. The sight of her beneath him, so delicate and vulnerable, yet so _trusting_ , is enough to set his body on fire.

 

His brain shuts down. All rationality is lost to pure instinct.

 

What’s right and what’s wrong loses out to the _feeling_ of her under him, the _delicious_ way her lips part and her legs spread beneath him, so he can press himself in between, so she can feel his hardness against her heat.

 

Shuri, for her part, is hardly defenseless. She’s got her own set of weapons in her arsenal, rocking her hips against him _perfectly,_ whimpering and moaning and dropping curse words in a way that she surely knows will drive him mad.

 

 

 

At last, she locks her arms around his neck and grinds up against him, slow and deliberate and measured that makes him want to tear her clothes off, have her right there on the floor.

 

If he could speak, he’d be at a loss for words.

 

She breaks him with just one.

 

“ _Please_.” she gasps against his lips, and he knows he’s done for.

 

Steve reaches down and tugs at the edge of her dress. Hikes it up past her thighs, past her waist.

 

He waits another beat before he leans down and kisses her inner thigh, draws out a shuddering sigh from her lips.

 

(A posture of romance, he thinks, when nothing could be further from the truth.)

 

He lingers there a moment longer, before he reaches down and slips off a pair of lace underwear, pretty and luxurious and _completely_ soaked through. It’s a pity, he thinks, that he doesn’t have time to appreciate them more, but he couldn't care less right now. He all but rips them off, tossing them to some forgotten corner of the studio floor.

 

And he briefly considers slowing things down, but Shuri beats him to the chase, undoes his belt and frees him before he can even complete the thought, her fingers fumbling to guide him.

 

When he finally presses into her, he can’t suppress the low moan that drops from his lips, because she feels so damn _good_ around him. Maybe it’s the residual adrenaline rush from his workout combined with his raw _need_ to have her, swirling in his brain like a dangerous cocktail of neurochemical transmitters, but the feeling of her around him makes him heady in all the best ways.

 

It’s hard to fight down the overwhelming carnal urges through the haze of his lust. His animal brain is screaming at him to _start moving,_ but with what little self-control he’s got left, he waits until she’s ready, until he feels her nod, her cheek against his, her ragged breath in his ear.

 

And maybe it’s unfair to her, but he starts by moving painfully slowly. Measured strokes, teasing her, pulling soft gasps from her lips. Shuri leans into his movements regardless, arches her back so she can get _closer_ , take him _deeper_.

 

They move into a steady rhythm, one that belies the liquid tension that’s filling their bodies, and that’s when Steve finally looks up and catches a glimpse of them in the mirror. She's got her legs wrapped around his waist, matching looks of lust, of need, on their faces, a fine sheen of sweat built up on their skin.

 

It’s in that moment that it really hits him -- he’s fucking the king’s little sister. The woman, who probably loved his best friend.

 

Except both the king and his best friend are dead.

 

And in another time, another life, they could have stopped it. Probably.

 

Those thoughts should make him slow down, feel some sort of regret, _something_. But they _don't_.

 

Because this is a _new_ time. A new life.

 

Whatever _this_ means, she's his now, in the same fucked-up, twisted way that he is hers. That he’s _always_ been hers.

 

The future is uncertain, always has been. If they both die as sinners -- so be it.

 

So he casts his thoughts aside to lean down again, to meet her lips in a kiss that muffles the cry she drops when he thrusts into her again, harder and deeper and _rougher_ than before.

 

It’s not until she digs her nails into his back, until she lets out a broken “ _Fuck_ ” against his lips that he growls into her mouth, pushes her knees up, and changes the angle of his movements.

 

 

Steve fucks the way he fights -- raw, desperate, furious.

 

He thrusts into her hard. Without mercy.

 

She cries out, and shows him no mercy in return.

 

And as he moves his hips into a punishing pace, as he feels her tighten around him, feels them free-falling together towards the inevitable end, all he can think is --

 

Breaking the rules has _never_ felt so good. Shuri has fueled an addiction.

 

One taste, and she's made him _insatiable_.

 

 


	2. dirty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not the end. Just the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This story is about to get so messy. I would like to say I have control, but I really, truly, don’t. This is a very succinct update, but consider it a warning. If that's not your cup of tea, don't read on.

Maybe he’d be able to forgive himself if the encounter had been a one-time thing.

 

A moment of weakness, sparked by a need for both of them to feel something, _anything_.

 

Except that’s a damn lie. And he _knows_ it.

* * *

 

They fuck three more times that night.

 

The first time, he has her on her back. Spreads her legs apart and thrusts into her, until her nails have drawn his blood and her mouth has, too.

 

The second time, he lets her ride on his lap. Focuses on slow, deep strokes, so he can feel her warm walls pulse around him.

 

The last time, he takes her on her hands and knees. From behind.

 

She’s wet and tight and _perfect_ , and Steve _tells_ her, rasps it into her ear as he fucks her hard.

 

Shuri rewards him for his ministrations with breathless gasps of his name, begging him for more, more, _more_ , with a kind of raw hunger that he'd only ever _dreamed_ of.

 

So when she asks, he does as she commands.

 

He fucks and fucks and fucks, until her pretty white dress drenches through with sweat. Until she’s dripping to the brim with his seed — no, _overflowing_ with it.

 

There’s a twisted thrill to it all, one he buries into the secret marks and bites and bruises she’ll find in the morning.

 

Her dress is in near-shreds by the time they're through. So is his sanity.

 

He doesn’t recognize the man in the mirror, anymore.

 

And he doesn’t _care_.

* * *

 

Later, he finds his way back to his room.

 

Steve peels off his clothing. Showers with _scalding_ water, water so hot he thinks it just might take his skin off.

 

It’s laughable, really. 

 

(He does, in fact, laugh out loud. Probably another sign he's lost his mind)

 

But it's true. It all seems like an exercise in futility.

 

As if any amount of water in the world could _possibly_ cleanse him now.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment! I'm such a tease, but still. Also @wakandawinterprincess on Tumblr so say hi!


	3. terms and conditions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Queen and the Captain come to an understanding.

 

 

 

Steve spends the next few hours free-falling into a dreamless sort of sleep.

 

No thoughts. No feelings. Just darkness.

 

For a few hours at least, his subconscious wanders in oblivion.

 

And he’s happy for that.

 

* * *

 

He receives a short kimoyo text from her that same evening.

 

It’s brief, and to the point:

 

_My room. 15 minutes._

 

Steve is there in ten.

 

* * *

 

He’s been to her room before, actually. Carried her there, after late debriefs when she’d been too drained to move herself. So this shouldn’t feel so different. So... _strange_.

 

But it _is_. Most visibly, he figures, because she’s seemingly dismissed all the guards in the hall.

 

Not that she needs them, really. Her chambers are by far the most secure in the palace.

 

After all -- she’d designed them herself.

 

He stands in front of the entrance as her facial recognition scanner identifies him. It authorizes his entry in all of two seconds, opening to him with a soft click.

 

Steve pushes through the twin doors and finally, _finally_ sees her.

 

Shuri’s faced away from him, and doesn’t even acknowledge his presence. All the better, he supposes, because he gets a chance to quietly, greedily take in the sight of her in front of him.

 

She’s dressed in a simple white blouse, a black pencil skirt, and striking red heels. One of her _many_ classic power outfits. Though right now, he’s fixated on the white of her blouse, because it reminds him of the white of her dress from last night, once so pretty and unsullied. The sight makes him want to remember just _where_ he’d marked her, made her his own.

 

 _God_. He’s really so _fucking_ far gone.

 

She waits another beat before she murmurs a simple command to the smart system governing her room’s security controls. “Activate incognito mode. Soundproof the room.”

 

The words are out of his mouth before he can even stop them, probably because he’s an idiot --

 

“Is this a confidential briefing, your highness?”

 

At last, she turns and meets his eyes.

 

“Something like that.” she agrees, not changing her expression once. “I like my privacy.”

 

Her face remains distant, unreadable. He resists the urge to shift uncomfortably under her gaze, because he knows full well that this is her way of testing him. Testing, to see how much he can take.

 

She continues.

 

“Okoye tells me you spent today resting.”

 

A pause, and then, a question that shakes him right to his core --

 

“What did you dream of, Captain?”

 

 

The truth, or a lie?

 

What could she handle?

 

What does she _deserve_?

 

Steve ponders it for a moment, before he gives his reply.

 

“Nothing. Absolutely _nothing_.”

 

Shuri gives him a sudden, wobbly smile at that. Lets out a sudden exhale of relief, as if she’d been holding her breath the whole time. As if his answer confirmed something she’d _desperately_ needed to know.

 

“Funny that you say that. See, I didn’t dream of anything, either.”

 

Another pause, and then, in a much smaller voice, she asks --

 

“Just how _damaged_ are we, Captain?”

 

Damaged enough to fuck like animals, he supposes, without a thought or care to consequence. Though that isn’t an answer he’s particularly keen on voicing.

 

Steve doesn’t know where he finds the words to deflect, but he manages it anyways:

 

“Why, who’s asking?”

 

She lets out a mirthless laugh at that. Hollow, but not entirely insincere.

 

“Touché. No one, of course. No one, frankly, gives a damn. Perhaps it’s better that way.”

 

This time, he breaks the quiet. “So, what _exactly_ are we doing?”

 

Shuri rubs a hand across her face, and he finally catches the tiniest strain of exhaustion in her movements. Before he can think about it much longer, however, she meets his eyes again.

 

“Fucking is easier than talking. And it’s sure as hell easier than thinking.”

 

He takes a moment to process what she’s saying, the bluntness of it all, as well as those of her next words:

 

“Steve -- I’m sick and _tired_ of thinking.”

 

And, well, so is he.

 

She continues.

 

“Here’s my proposal: I can call you, or you can call me, and we can spend some time not thinking about a damn thing. We can sleep with whoever else we want. We can end this arrangement at any time, at will. No feelings, no jealousy, no complications. Agreed?”

 

The way she says it, it’s so neat and simple. Almost too simple.

 

And yet, it _works_.

 

After all, gone are the days when he’d put his foot down for a ladylove, declare his feelings for her, and ask that she be his and _only_ his.

 

Tragedy has made him wiser, in that way.

 

Shuri was _never_ his, and never would be.

 

After all, she could never belong to anyone she didn’t want back.

 

He’s such a damned wretch that he’d have her in _any_ way that she’d let him.

 

So his answer is short and simple --

 

“Agreed.”

 

 

Shuri smiles at last, sparkling and confident and triumphant.

 

Looking, in that moment, so much like she once had, before the war had taken everything from her.

 

“Shake on it, then.” She gives him her hand.

 

He shakes it. Firmly. Quickly.

 

“Will that be all, your Highness?” Steve manages to ask.

 

Shuri gives him a bemused look at that.

 

“No. Not quite.”

 

She takes a step forward now, encroaching into his space.

 

“I didn’t _just_ call you to have this little chat. That would have been a waste of your time and mine.”

 

His mouth goes dry, as he slowly pieces together just what she's getting at.

 

“What were you thinking?”

 

“Honestly? I’d like to _not_ think. For a few hours.” she murmurs. Her eyes take on a devious glint. “Hence, the need for... _privacy_.”

 

She steps again, nearly closes the distance between them. Delicately inserts herself into his space, her chest pressed against his, her arms locking around his neck, her mouth just a breath away from his.

 

His brain functions long enough for him to ask: “What would you like best?”

 

She smirks.

 

“Well, I have an idea of just _how_ you like me best.” she coos in his ear, and Steve’s forced to blink away racy, _distracting_ memories of her, down on all fours. Does his very best to shove away the intoxicating thoughts of her pretty ass clapping back against him, meeting his thrusts, as he’d pushed himself in and out of her, again and again and _again_.

 

(Tries, in vain, to forget just how _much_ he’d enjoyed the way she’d been whining _filthy_ expletives, in _Xhosa_ and English both, to rile him up so he’d fuck her harder.)

 

Shuri gives him a wicked, knowing grin. Bites her lower lip in a way that’s _far_ too enticing.

 

“You can have me _however_ you like later.” she whispers, and maybe he imagines it, but he swears he can hear a little ache, a little _longing_ , behind her words.

 

“ But _first_ …” she murmurs, “I need you to get on your knees, _Captain_.”

 

It’s not a request. It’s a _command_.

 

So he does. Maybe a little too quickly. But his dignity is long gone, anyways.

 

Shuri raises a single, perfect brow.

 

“Someone's _eager_.” she quips.

 

He’s already unzipped her skirt before he bothers with a reply, that’s how wholly _desperate_ he is for a taste of her.

 

“ _Aren't you?_ ” he manages to rasp back.

 

She gives an affronted gasp.

 

“Where on _earth_ did you get that impression from, Captain, I --   _I_ …”

 

He never hears the rest of what he’s _sure_ is a brilliantly witty reply, because that’s _precisely_ when he pushes her underwear to one side, and then his mouth is in the space between her legs and she’s gasping as his tongue traces the edges of her folds, hot and slow and _tantalizing_.

 

She sways above him, but doesn’t lose her balance. Firmly wraps one hand in his hair, to steady herself.

 

And it’s as he explores her sweetness further, laps up the taste of her and elicits noises he’d never _dreamed_ of hearing her make before that he realizes --

 

Fucking _is_ easier than talking.

 

(Really, it is.)

 

Who is he to complain?


	4. confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the truth will out. not everyone's happy about it.

Despite their best efforts to keep things discreet, word of the Captain and the Queen sleeping together spreads through the palace staff, fast. Steve knows as much -- he can tell, by the curious looks and now-hushed whispers that follow him wherever he goes.

 

It’s _overwhelmingly_ clear -- they **don’t** approve.

 

But it’s **also** clear that they (begrudgingly) believe that Steve’s finally won her over. That his affections, nay, his _longing_ , to have her, is _finally_ being reciprocated. That he loves her, and maybe, just _maybe_ , she loves him back, too.

 

(They’re wrong, of course, but he’s hardly in a position to correct them.)

* * *

Officially speaking, this ‘arrangement’ between him and Shuri doesn’t exist. In the public eye, they are just the Queen and her Captain. Nothing more and nothing less.

 

The fact that it _isn’t_ true -- now that adds a truly _wicked_ thrill to it all.

 

Knowing that they _shouldn’t_ , but yet, they _are_ , is _exactly_ the kind of dizzying high he could get addicted to.

* * *

Who she’s had before doesn’t matter.

 

He’s the only one who truly _knows_ her innermost wants, her most carnal desires. The only one who’s ever fucked her thoroughly.

 

The _only_ one, who can make her wet at a moment’s notice.

 

She always asks for him. Always _returns_ to him.

 

That’s no small victory. And he'll take whatever he can get.

* * *

The warmth between her legs is his second home. He spends every waking moment craving it.

 

Shuri knows _just_ how to push him over the edge, to keep him coming back for more.

 

The longer he goes without it, the more wild and erratic he gets. Some days, she teases him, purposely riles him up until his want is like a physical ache, strong enough that it _might_ actually kill him.

 

But when he’s _finally_ able to have her to himself, finally able to sheath himself into her folds and draw out a ragged, petulant moan from her lips -- _that’s_ when he knows that this is so intoxicatingly good, it’s worth _dying_ for.

* * *

It’s no surprise, then, that he starts to get sloppy. Careless.

 

That he can’t help the self-satisfied smirk on his face when one of her personal assistants catches a dark hickey on her neck, then coughs and looks away. Or when they both walk in five minutes late to a meeting with international personnel, and a diplomat quietly tells the Queen that her blouse needs to be tucked in. It’s polite enough, yes, but also completely and wholly oblivious to the fact that the blouse had spent the previous five minutes tossed on the floor of the room right next door, where Steve had pulled Shuri in for a quickie, his hands digging into her hips and her ass bent over her desk. He’d brought her to the edge, over and over, pumped his seed into her until she was _dripping_ with it.

 

And not a _damn_ person in the room knew. Not a one.

 

(Though perhaps the faint flush on her face and the smirk on his face tells enough.)

 

The game he’s playing -- it’s reckless. Arrogant. He knows it.

 

He’s just _asking_ to be exposed.

 

But frankly? He doesn’t _give_ a damn.

* * *

Still, her staff is loyal to a fault. Miraculously, the gossip never leaks to any tabloids.

 

But then again, it was never her staff Steve had been worried about.

 

No, the ones Steve had _actually_ worried about were the rest of the Avengers. Or, what had remained of them, anyways.

 

It had been sheer luck, really, that most of the Avengers were not in Wakanda when their ‘arrangement’ began.

 

Almost all of them were currently outside the nation’s borders, visiting family and friends who had survived the Decimation, in an effort to maintain some sense of normalcy. 

 

All, except one.

 

 _Natasha_.

* * *

In retrospect, Steve is amazed he’s able to keep it from her so long. He chalks it up to the fact that she’s been increasingly perplexed over sightings of a vigilante in Asia -- a man going by the name Ronin.

 

(She thinks it might be Clint. Steve doesn’t have the heart left in him to openly disagree.)

 

Either way, he manages to keep it from her. For some time.

 

But in the end, he figures, the truth will always out.

* * *

She confronts him in his study, the afternoon that she’s set to leave for her mission.

 

In her usual style, she gets right to the point:

 

“What the **hell** , Rogers? What the **_hell_** are you doing?”

 

Natasha looks _livid_ , angrier than he’s ever seen her. For once, Steve’s at a loss for words.

 

“People do stupid things.” he finally manages to offer, half-joking, half-serious.

 

One look at her face, and he knows: she doesn’t take to his answer kindly at all.

 

“ _No_.” she hisses. “ _Other_ people do stupid things. You _don't_ , Steve. You don’t _have_ that luxury!”

 

She steps closer, jabs a finger right in his chest.

 

“Shuri’s lonely. She’s _scared_. And you’re an _idiot_ to think she wants you, Steve.”

 

“I _don’t_ , Natasha.”

 

There’s a long pause, then.

 

Natasha looks at him in shock.

 

“ _What_?”

 

“I don’t _think_ she wants me. I _know_ she doesn’t want me. But I still want her.”

 

In an instant, it clicks. Her next words come out tightly laced with venom --

 

“Captain America, being _selfish_ for once? How the mighty fall, indeed.”

 

Natasha gives him a derisive smile, but he can see the thin edges of her facade wearing away. Can see that she’s about to take desperate measures.

 

“Humor me for a minute, Steve. Where does this **_go_**? When does it **_end_** , huh? When she finds someone younger, **_fitter_**?”

 

Another pause, and then she delivers her most biting lines:

 

“You’re a shit replacement for Barnes,” she spits out. “I would know.”

 

The words should sting. They’re meant to, he figures. The memory of his old friend is one he’s suppressed for so long that even the mention of his name nearly pushes him off-balance.

 

Perhaps he would have had more time to mull over her words, let the knives of her accusations sink in, but at that very moment, his kimoyo bead buzzes. He looks down, opens the notification.

 

It’s a message from Shuri. Short. To-the-point.

 

_My office. Right. Now._

 

Just like that, all his thoughts disappear, and all he can think about is _her_ , waiting for him in her office. He can feel a tickle of heat warm his insides, the thoughts of having her superseding all other thoughts in his brain.

 

Natasha’s voice brings him back to reality.

 

“ ** _Steve_**.” Her words are a warning. “We’re not done here.”

 

At last, he manages to look up.

 

“I’m sorry, Nat. I think we are.” he replies, as flatly as he can.

 

A look of understanding, and -- dare he even say it -- a touch of sadness crosses her face.

 

“Fine, then. Go be with her. But don’t say I didn’t _warn you_.”

 

She turns away from him, then. Almost makes it to the door, before she turns around.

 

This time, he can finally see the beginnings of angry tears in her eyes. For a second, his heart clenches, at the thought that he’s somehow managed to make his best friend cry. Until he hears her next words.

 

They come out as a whisper, but he hears them still.

 

“You told me once that you’d trust me to save your life. I’m sad to see that wasn’t true. Really, I am.”

 

Finally, she turns.

 

And this time, she leaves him in the loudest silence he’s heard in a long, long time.


	5. termination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The simmering unrest in Wakanda over the Queen's pet project finally comes to a head, and Shuri must make an incredibly tough choice.

 

The only thing that keeps Shuri and Steve apart these days is her work.

 

In the last five years since the Decimation, Shuri has been spearheading one very _specific_ initiative — Project Decima. Named after The Decimation itself, the project saw researchers from across the globe compiling and analyzing data related to catastrophic event. The project was exhaustive, and not without reason — it was _easily_ the largest knowledge sharing initiative in human history.

 

The goals of Project Decima were simple — to find a way to fill in the missing pieces. To bring greater transparency to the disaster, and its aftermath. Even, with some luck, find a way to reverse the deaths that had happened. Or, barring that, to bring a sense of closure to all involved.

 

Still, not everyone was onboard with the initiative’s goals.

 

Wakanda had not gone so long, poured so much money and time and effort into research, with so little to show for it.

 

Some even whispered that the queen had finally lost her touch, her spark of brilliance in the engineering field.

How else could one explain the fact that research and development projects had moved at a snail’s pace, even after accrual of almost all relevant data needed? It didn’t make _sense_.

 

Others just felt continued attention to the tragedy was like irritating a fresh wound, over and over. The continued work felt like a mistake, a step back.

 

For many, it seemed, peace would come from oblivion. From _forgetting_.

 

Steve understands that sentiment. Maybe a little _too_ well.

 

But the thought is gone from his head, before he can contemplate it further.

 

* * *

 

Still, the protestors hadmade their voices heard, and loudly at that, showing up at all public venues possible. Opposition seemed equal parts duty and necessity to those most passionate about it. And they were never stopped from voicing their concerns.

 

But for a time, all efforts against Project Decima simply faded into the background, dissolving like white noise.

 

For a time.

 

As it turns out, the departure of the last of the Avengers in Wakanda was all the incentive they needed to make one final, _decisive_ push.

 

* * *

 

Steve finds out the news from a kimoyo bead update —

 

Project Decima is dead. By _Shuri’s_ hand, no less.

 

* * *

 

Later, he learns the fine bits and details.

 

A group of angry protestors had somehow made it past the guards, past the security, into the privacy of her courtroom and with all the elders watching.

 

They’d demanded she terminate the project before, yes.

 

This time, they’d _begged_ , instead.

 

Wakanda deserved a chance to move on. A chance at building a new life. This project had become a thorn in their sides. Had crippled the view of their new queen. After all, who wanted to be led by a ruler whose very first major scientific initiative had been a failure?

 

The elders had agreed, surprisingly.

 

They had always been on Shuri’s side. Until now.

 

 _We need you to lead Wakanda into the future_ , they’d said. _Will you be brave enough to do it?_

 

For a long time, Shuri had been silent. Some even said her face had turned to stone.

 

But then, she’d done it.

 

And in a heartbeat, it was all over.

 

* * *

 

For the sake of open access, all major research files will be uploaded on the Internet for the use of the global scientific community. The work wouldn’t _all_ be going to waste.

 

Still, in a sense, it _was_. The last bit of the missing puzzle — the quantum physics problem at the heart of it all — _that_ would remain forever missing. No singular scientific lab possessed the resources required to obtain that final bit of research. After Wakanda’s termination of Project Decima, no one _ever_ would.

 

Steve doesn’t care about the research, frankly. Doesn’t give a damn.

 

(He’d lost that fresh-eyed enthusiasm a long time ago.)

 

But she _does_. Or did, anyways.

 

This work had been her _everything_. Her last tie to her old life.

 

So what he needs to do right now is find _her_ , instead.

 

* * *

 

As he storms the halls, he can’t quiet the storm of thoughts in his mind. Never, _never_ in his wildest dreams would he have guessed that she’d be the one to turn the project off.

 

Perhaps they had both been silly, trying to delay the inevitable. Steve sees that, now.

 

He thinks, briefly, of how terrified she must have been, to have seen the once-invisible face of her opposition, so up close and in person. How tired and sad she must have felt, in that brief instant.

 

He can feel something in his heart twist sharply. The intensity of the feeling scares him.

 

Still — he wishes he’d been there. To help. To say something. Anything.

 

But this was a decision she needed to make alone. He knows she deserves that much.

 

And in the end, it was the word of the Queen that would be carried as law.

 

* * *

 

Would he have advised her to have the project shut off?

 

In a decisive moment, could he have helped her step back? Or would he have pushed her off the ledge?

 

Steve knows the answer. And he hates himself for it. But obviously, not enough.

 

* * *

 

Shuri’s a quick search, thankfully.

 

He finds her in her room. She’s soaking in the bath, but the tear streaks are still on her face, her head just above the murky waters.

 

It’s clear that she’s cried, that she’s grieved.

 

But she looks, in that moment, like she would very much like to _drown_.

 

Steve feels a new urgency fueling his steps. He throws whatever last bit of shame he had in his body out, kneels by her side of the tub.

 

He _has_ to save her. Has to.

 

She’s all he has left, anyways.

 

Her eyes remain trained forward for another moment or two. Unseeing. Unfeeling.

 

But _finally_ , she speaks.

 

“I could have said no.”

 

Steve sighs.

 

“You can _still_ say no.”

 

“No. I _can’t_ , Steve.”

 

She turns now, looks him right in the eyes.

 

“I was wrong, this whole time. What was I _thinking_ , Steve?”

 

A single tear makes its way down her cheek. He leans in close, brushes it away and cups her face in his hand.

 

Shuri intakes a shaky breath. Closes her eyes and leans into his hand, like it’s a small comfort, before she continues.

 

“I couldn’t bring them back. Not my brother, not my people.”

 

Her next words come out in a choked whisper.

 

“I couldn’t even save _him_.”

 

Steve doesn’t need the answer to who _him_ is. He already knows.

 

And he feels like a damn wretch.

 

God, Steve is selfish. _So_ selfish.

 

His best friend had _just_ started living his life again, and just like that, it had been taken away from him.

 

By shutting off the project, she wasn’t just saying goodbye to half a decade of work.

 

She’s saying goodbye to _him_. To her last chance, her last hope, of bringing him back.

 

He’d sit and wallow in that realization a bit more, try to take it in, but he’s shaken out of his thoughts by her soft hand coming up to his cheek. She’s gazing at him, searching his face so intently now that it shakes him to his core.

 

_Who does she see?_

 

He never gets a chance to ask. Shuri brings her other hand to his jaw.

 

Then she’s pulling him down and kissing him wordlessly, but the tension and grief is all there — he can feel it, in the shakiness of her movements, the hasty way her lips part and she lets her tongue meet his, as if her very life depends on it.

 

But _his_ does. So he kisses her. Again. Then again. And again.

 

It’s not until he’s broken away for air that he hears her breathless request —

 

“Steve, _please_ — _help me forget_.”

 

Something about her words, the _ache_ in her voice — it shuts his brain off.

 

So he doesn’t hesitate.

 

Not when he takes her into his arms, lifts her out of the water.

 

Not when he pushes her onto the bathroom countertop, runs his hands greedily up and down her beautiful, naked frame.

 

Not when she pushes his pants down and takes his length in her hand, guides him back into her familiar warmth, her intoxicating tightness.

 

They cry out together when he presses all the way into her. It’s an instinctual reaction, purely physical.

 

It’s grounding, in a sense. Perhaps the only grounding they have left.

 

She pulls him close, again.

 

Her tears mix into their kisses, something desperate and raw and bittersweet.

 

It’s then, and only _then_ , that Steve stops.

 

For the first time since they started this ‘thing’, he wonders if this is really, _truly_ wrong.

 

If he’s saving her, or saving himself.

 

Just where, exactly, their redemption might lie.

 

 

 

But for the moment, he just closes his eyes. Drags himself out, then back in.

 

She _moans_ beneath him. Rolls her hips in a slow, _addictive_ rhythm.

 

When he growls at her teasing and begins to move faster, he can _feel_ her lock her legs around his waist, _feel_ her head drop back as she loses herself to the physicality of it all, as she rides the waves of all-consuming pleasure.

 

So he thrusts into her, something hard and deep and _desperate_ all the same, until her tears turn into cries and her sobs turn into sighs.

 

*

*

*

*

*

* * *

 

**_Later that night, somewhere in the Czech Republic_ **

 

Dr. Erik Selvig makes himself comfortable in front of his laptop, which, at the moment, means a can of Sprite and no pants. The former is a simple luxury, while the latter… well, the latter doesn’t really matter, since all he’s doing is downloading two sets of files.

 

The first is the newly uploaded project files, from the Wakandan Research lab.

 

The second is an archived, classified research file from the now-defunct Pym Technologies.

 

Should be a fun, late night of reading. He can’t _wait_ to get started.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....dun, dun, dun!
> 
> Succinct, yes, but what are your thoughts? Drop me a line, plz and thanks! :D


	6. stirring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after brings new complications that Steve and Shuri both aren't quite ready to face head-on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This commences Act II of this story. Don't yell at me for what's to come. I promise it'll be wicked ;)   
> Updates will probably be extremely slow because, you know, life. That's all.

Steve spends the night in her room. He’s  _ never _ done that before.

 

It’s exactly as strange as it sounds, yes. But in a roundabout way, it just made  _ sense _ .

 

After all — it was one thing to soil her sheets. It was another thing entirely to  _ stay _ in them.

 

The transience of their trysts was precisely the thrill of it all. Waking up together in the morning… that was something far too  _ intimate _ . Far too undeserving of whatever the hell they had going on.

 

And yet,  _ here he was _ . Blinking away the bright rays of sunlight, streaming in from the windows above her bed.

 

Except that was just it, though. He  _ hadn’t _ even slept in her bed. No, he’d just carried her there after she’d all but collapsed in exhaustion. Tucked her into her silken sheets as carefully as he could, before making do on the small chaise in the corner of her room. Not ideal, but he couldn’t complain.

 

Maybe she wouldn’t have wanted him there, and maybe a tiny part of him didn’t  _ want _ to be there, but no matter. He’d needed to know that she’d get through the night OK.

 

And that she had.

 

He considers slipping out quietly, now that it’s morning and he  _ knows _ she’s alright, but of course, it’s at that exact moment that she stirs in her sleep. He sees her fumble around the sheets briefly, as if she’s  _ searching _ for someone, before her eyes flutter open.

 

She sits up, suddenly, and even from his side of the room, the confusion on her face is evident.

 

“Why are you all the way over  _ there _ ?”

 

Maybe she hadn’t  _ meant _ for it to come out that way, but her words are tinged with a petulant sort of whine that is so out of character it’s actually kind of funny. That, paired with her cute little pout and her wild morning bedhead, is  _ ridiculously _ endearing in its innocence.

 

Steve laughs. A real laugh, after God-knows how long. Tries not to let his own still-lingering awkwardness about the night slip through his next words —

 

“Sorry, princess. I just thought you might need some space.”

 

Shuri seems to accept that answer, rubbing her face sleepily and letting out some unintelligible cross between a grumble and a groan. She makes to get off the bed, to head to the bathroom, but not before she hisses out a command —

 

“Don’t.  _ Move _ .”

 

She wants to freshen up before chatting with him about… what happened with the project, what happened last night, probably what an  _ idiot _ he is for caring far too much when the agreement between them had always been to care very little. Maybe even all of the above.

 

Go figure. Steve can’t say he’s surprised.

 

A wiser man would try to make his getaway now. But of course, Steve left reason behind long ago. And he’s never been one to disobey the queen.

 

So he gives her an assured smile, instead.

 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

* * *

 

Shuri comes back out of her bathroom a few minutes later. She’s got her hair neatly pulled back, and she’s dressed in a pink, silk robe that just skims the upper half of her thighs. No makeup on --  just a tantalizing smudge of tinted chapstick and beautiful, bare skin.

 

It’s understated look, maybe purposefully so. But in the morning light, with the sun striking her skin like this, she looks  _ divine _ .

 

He drinks her in for a moment. Tries to commit this vision of her to his memory.

 

For one moment, there’s nothing but her.  _ Just _ her.

 

The moment passes. Shuri finally breaks the silence.

 

“ _ Thank you. _ ” she says. “For staying.”

 

It takes a moment for Steve to process her words.

 

_ What? _

 

He’d expected her to admonish him. Let him down gently.  _ Anything _ but this.

 

“It was nothing, really.” he manages to reply, more out of reflex than real thought, but he’s cut off by her next words --

 

“ _ No _ !”

 

She looks surprised at her own outburst, sudden as it is, and tries to backtrack.

 

“ _ No _ , I… what I’m  _ trying _ to say is... you staying here last night, it meant a lot. I’m trying to  _ thank _ you, Steve, damn it.”

 

Shuri pauses, takes a gentler tone, then. 

 

“You didn’t have to do that. But I’m  _ glad _ you did. Really.”

 

She straightens up, and Steve can  _ see _ the conviction in her words when she says --    

 

“I’ve been living in the past, Captain. Perhaps for too long.”

  
  


Steve’s mind is  _ whirling _ with questions, now. Dangerous ones. 

  
  


“What are you trying to say?”

  
  


Shuri gives him a sad, wistful sort of smile, and he can see that she’s putting on a brave face. As she always does.

 

“I’m saying that I’m  _ ready _ . To fight for Wakanda’s future. To not look back any longer.”

 

She steps closer. 

 

“I couldn’t have done it without  _ you _ .” she whispers, and Steve can’t help but think, in that moment, of just how _ undeserving _ he is of the sudden tinge of tenderness in her voice, real or imagined.  

 

And she’s wrong about this one thing, of course. Because she most certainly  _ could _ have done it without him, and he’s not wretched enough to presume otherwise. Not foolhardy enough, to overstate his importance in her life. 

 

She’s never needed him as much as he needs her. 

 

You can do  _ anything _ , he wants to tell her. You can and you  _ will _ . I’m just the bastard who was lucky enough to be at the right place at the right time, to witness the rise of a  _ star _ . 

  
  
  


“I’ll  _ always _ be here, Shuri.” he says instead, and somehow, that seems to be enough.

 

Shuri smiles at that, and the way she’s looking at him now, so light and radiant, makes his heart hurt in the best and worst way.

 

Steve can’t be here in this room, any longer. He’s overstayed his welcome, and he  _ knows _ it.

 

So he tries to make his exit.

 

“Well, your highness, I suppose I should be leaving.”

 

“What if I ask you to  _ stay _ ?” she murmurs, and she’s suddenly fixed him with a look that stops him, verily makes him freeze, right in his tracks.

 

What do you  _ mean _ ?, he wants to ask her. What do you mean by  _ stay _ ?

 

Because his treacherous heart wants it to mean what he _ thinks _ it means. That he can finally have her, all of her. Her heart and her soul, too. The same way she already has his, and probably for good.

 

She must see the shift on his face, because she intakes a slow, ragged breath. Bites her lower lip -- a nervous tic of hers, he’s come to realize.

 

And just like that, something changes. Steve can just  _ tell _ . Though he tries his best to ignore the sinking feeling in his gut.

 

She steps closer to him. Guides his hand to slip under her robe, graze against the smooth, warm, naked expanse of her waist, of her skin.

 

Her other hand trails delicately to his waistband.

 

“Stay with me. Pass the time.  _ Please _ .” 

 

.

.

.

 

No. 

 

He  _ wants _ to say no. He should push her hand away, unwind himself from her now. 

 

Because he wants so much  _ more _ than to pass the time, to while away hours and days and months in a lust-induced haze.

 

Because he thought he saw a moment of honesty in her eyes, and he wants to know  _ why _ it slipped away.

 

He wants to  _ wake up _ , damn it. Wants it, more than anything else in the world right now.

 

But he’s not strong enough. 

 

Not strong enough, to resist the smell of her heady, dizzying, arousal.

 

Not strong enough, to ignore her hushed gasp as she guides his hand up higher, to cup her breast in a way that’s rough and possessive.

 

His vision is myopic. And _ she’s _ his fucking blind spot.

 

“Steve,  _ please…” _ she whimpers, something low and aching and  _ desperate _ , and that’s all it takes. 

 

In one swift motion, he undoes her silken robe. It slips off her shoulders like falling water, pools in a heap on the floor.

 

Then he’s pushed his mouth against hers in a greedy kiss, his hands at her waist, her bare frame pressed up against him. She makes a little noise of indignation before she kisses him back fully, one hand curling around his neck in a vice grip, the other finally slipping past his waistband. And now  _ he’s _ at her mercy, but  _ fuck! _ She knows exactly how to make him break. How to work him up until he’s  _ desperate _ to have her.

 

She does just that, until he can’t take her torture anymore. Steve lifts her easily in his arms, then, carries her back to the bed. It’s so far removed from the gentle care of the night before, but she scarcely notices, tugging insistently at his sweatpants.

 

He lets her down just long enough to kick them off. She watches him as he does, a knowing glint in her eye, before she rolls onto her stomach, so he can get a full view of the dark expanse of her back. So he gets a chance to drink in the sight of her gorgeous ass and legs, primed so _perfectly_ for him.

 

She turns back, then. Just long enough to bite her lower lip and give him a cheeky wink.  _Tease_.

 

He enters her slowly a few moments later, and her head lolls back with pleasure as she adjusts to the sensation. She lets out a low, shuddering moan, and he sees her hands curl into the sheets. As if to ground herself, for what's to come.

 

For his part, it takes all his self-control to _wait_ , wait until he can form some semblance of human thought. 

 

The truth is, the feeling never gets old. She's warm and wet and _tight_ , and he needs her more than anything. _God_.

 

He's a man beyond saving, he realizes now. She could send him straight to hell, and he'd let her, if it meant having her like this, one last time.

 

_ "Fuck _ , Shuri, _fuck._ " is what he rasps into her ear, instead, and she lets out a breathless gasp in response.

 

Then he moves, and she moves with him, and they drive one another forward and until they collapse together, in a tangle of sheets and sweat and something akin to satisfaction.

 

* * *

 

Steve stays in her bed. Wakes a few hours later, to the sight of her sleeping, sated form in front of him.

 

And it’s as he lets his gaze trail down the delicate path of her back that he thinks -- 

 

That maybe, just  _ maybe _ , this isn’t enough.


	7. withdrawal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve makes a choice. Shuri has a confession. Shit gets real.

**withdrawal**

 

Steve avoids her for the next five days.

 

Until now? The longest they’ve gone without fucking is _twenty-four hours_.

 

Coming up on five days, Steve feels like he’s bound for a relapse. Hell, he’s already feeling some _serious_ withdrawal symptoms.

 

Being without her -- it’s _indescribably_ hard, possibly the hardest thing he’s done yet.

 

He goes back to late-night workouts with his punching bag. The sweat and effort and adrenaline take his mind off things. At least, for a little while.

 

It’s _after_ his workouts -- when he’s completely alone, standing beneath the scalding heat of the shower -- that he’s most vulnerable. It’s then and there that thoughts of _her_ creep back into his mind, twist around in his psyche.

 

Usually, he can trick himself. Pretend that she’s there with him. That it’s _her_ warmth around his length and not his hands.

 

Memories of her flood his system: on her stomach, on her back, whining his name, pumping herself back against him.

 

Holding off his primal instincts is difficult. The desire to really, _truly_ have her threatens to overwhelm him, at times. It would be so _easy_ to just text her, ask her to join him. Too easy.

 

But he holds out. Resists the temptation to see her, and not just after his workouts.

 

During the day, he keeps himself on the “busy” status on kimoyo bead. When she asks, he gives her an excuse about a deluge of work that she seems to accept.

 

As an extra precaution, Steve tracks her location and then actively avoids it, even as his most lecherous sexual fantasies threaten to cloud his sanity.

 

So he makes do, with memories and motions.

 

Focuses his most primal instincts on thoughts of his hands digging greedily into her hips, of her crying out in pleasure and the _delicious_ sounds of their bodies slapping as he drove himself into her, harder and faster and _deeper_ .  
  


Steps out of every shower, feeling sated, satisfied, and guilty as sin.

* * *

  


Quitting her is tough. But it’s worth what it earns him.

 

Clarity of mind. Or so he hopes, anyways.

 

* * *

 

He gets a chance to _think_.

 

Not just about the past, or the present.

 

But about the _future_.

 

And just _what_ he’s willing to do to protect it.

 

* * *

 

During the day, Steve fields all major security issues threatening the Avengers’ outpost in Wakanda --  a combination of internal and external threats, messages, and potential breaches.

 

There are _thousands_ of security threats a day. Most of it is white noise.

 

He only ever sees the most critical ones, a few dozen at best.

 

From there -- well, from there, it’s his call.

 

And, well -- he hasn’t been wrong yet.

 

* * *

  


It’s on that fateful day five that Steve comes across a more... _unusual_ update.

 

A message, attached to a name.

 

**Erik Selvig.**

 

The name is familiar enough. A known associate of Thor, if Steve remembers right.

 

He scans over the rest of the man’s profile.

 

**Doctor. Professor. Consultant for S.H.I.E.L.D.**

 

 _Ah_. The memories come back to him, now. Selvig had worked with the team on a consulting basis with during the Ultron offensive, at the New Avengers facility.

 

(Funny, how that seems almost a lifetime ago. Because it _was_.)

  
  


Finally, Steve skims the message. What he sees makes his throat close.

  
  


Selvig is requesting an audience with the Queen.

 

Quantum Technology. Project Decima. The Decimation.

 

He’s cracked the code. Figured a way to reverse it all.

 

Bring back everything, to what it once was.

  
  


Their old life, back again.

  


All he needs is access to one piece of tech. One blueprint, that he’d scavenged in her papers.

  
  


It’s all too much. Steve wants to throw up. He can’t read this any longer.

  


Maybe Selvig is bluffing. Maybe this whole thing is a facade.

 

But in a tiny part of his brain, Steve knows that it _isn’t_. That Selvig is more likely right than wrong.

 

After all -- this is the man who’d figured out The Convergence, even as the rest of the scientific community fell behind. He was mad, but he was also correct.

 

And the possibility that he could use that knowledge to reverse everything that’s happened -- well, that’s _terrifying_.

 

The Avengers would stand a lot to gain. That much is undeniable.

 

Hell, Steve would stand a lot to gain. He’d get Sam and Wanda and Bucky back. A shot at doing it all right, this time.

  
  


But he’d lose Shuri in the process. Steve _knows_ he would.

  


Because she’d never loved him, anyways. Not in the same way he loved her.

 

  
And she deserved a fair shot. To take back whatever she’d had, with the first man she’d loved.

  


God, Steve is so selfish. To even _think_ about denying her what she deserves.

  


And yet. Somehow, he can’t shake the thought that maybe, just _maybe_ , they shouldn’t be waking the dead.

  
  


Over time, he’d gotten used to their absence. He’d swapped grieving with simply not feeling, traded his sorrow with silence.

  


He doesn’t know if he’s ready to open his heart like that again. Or if he’d ever be.

  


Can he give up the now for a potential later? Smile, as what’s been created in the present gets wrecked by the momentum of the past, catching up to them at last?

  
  


Is this even his decision to make? Is it going to be made for him? What the hell is he _doing_?

  
  


Steve realizes that he’s hyperventilating about thirty seconds later.

  


Forces himself to breathe slowly. To _think_.

  
  


What does he _want_?

  


It’s not a question he would ever have even considered before. But then again, he’s not the man he was a while ago. Will probably never be.

  
  


Steve takes a deep breath. In. Then out.

  


And in a fraction of a second, he makes his decision.

  
  


Slowly, he types out the response to Selvig --

  
  


**Message Received. Request Declined. No Audience Granted.**

  
  


Once that’s been sent, Steve deletes the message.

 

Wipes the file from the server, gets up from his desk, and walks away.

 

* * *

  


He’s protecting her, too. That’s what he tells himself, anyways.

  


* * *

 

 

Shuri texts him via kimoyo later that evening.

 

_Meet me in the lab in fifteen._

 

A moment later, another message.

 

_I missed you. Asshole. See you soon._

 

* * *

 

She greets him with a quick peck. Nothing too drawn out, which comes as a serious relief.

 

He’s struck, instead, by how much he’d missed her _presence_ \-- her scent, her voice, her tiny frame against his.

 

She pulls back, eyes sparkling.

 

“Hi, stranger.” she murmurs, a hint of tease in her voice. “I wanted to show you something.”

 

Steve knows every damn corner of this palace.

 

What could she _possibly_ want to show him?

 

“What is it?” he manages to ask.

 

Shuri gives him a grin.

 

“Something I’d all but forgotten.”

 

* * *

 

As it turns out, her lab is home to a lot of great tech, but also one very-secret door.

 

(He can’t say he’s surprised, actually. Of _course_ her lab would have another way out. It only made sense.)

 

She leads him down a winding, hidden tunnel path. This is clearly tech of a time long past -- it’s _astonishingly_ simple. In the semi-shrouded darkness, he can faintly make out the walls of the palace. Mostly, though, he focuses on her hand, guiding him forward like it’s nothing.

 

At last, they make it to the light at the end of the tunnel. And then, it’s all clear. Just _what_ this is.

  
  


It’s a secret observatory.

  


From here, he can take in the a breathtaking view of Birnin Zana, and a _heavenly_ view of the stars, hanging like a tapestry above them.

  


Suddenly, Steve feels so _very_ small. He hasn’t felt like this in a while. Not since he took the serum, agreed to fight someone else's battle and die for it, too.

 

No, this is so similar to his past life, and yet so _very_ different. So… humbling.

  


Shuri breaks him out of his thoughts.

 

“Isn’t it beautiful?” she whispers, clearly enraptured by the view around them.

 

It is beautiful, no doubt, but in that moment, Steve’s struck instead by _her_ , by how gorgeous she looks under the starlight.

 

“It is,” Steve agrees, not totally answering her question.

 

She notices, and even in the darkness, he can make out a slight blush rising to her cheeks.

 

Simply shakes her head, eyes to the ground, before she continues --

 

“My great-grandfather built this for my great grandmother. She liked looking at the city. And the stars.”

 

Shuri looks back at him now, something soft and just a little bit unreadable in her eyes. Her next words feel carefully measured.

 

“Looking at this view helps remind me -- we’re not alone, Steve. Not really.”

 

It’s so simple, so unsuspecting, and yet, it makes _sense_. They’re standing in the middle of someone’s token of love, made not so long ago. Surrounded by the life around them, watched by the stars in the sky.

 

They were never alone, were they?

 

“No, we aren’t.” he agrees. And somehow, that’s that.

  


 

The night turns suddenly cold, chilly. Shuri shivers at the breeze.

 

He gives her his jacket, puts it on her shoulders before she can protest. No question, no thoughts.

 

It’s just instinct.

 

She looks taken aback for a second, like she hadn’t expected it. But a moment later, she grins, and there’s _mischief_ in her eyes.

 

“Such a gentleman, _Captain_.” she coos, waggling her eyebrows at him for extra measure.

 

Steve cracks a smile at that. She breaks him down far too easily.

 

“Oh, you _never_ let a lady get cold. My ma raised a better man than that.”

 

And it’s meant to be a flippant comment, a throwaway at best, but suddenly he’s overcome with an emotion he can’t place.

 

It’s been so _long_ since he’d mentioned her. Almost a half a century.

  


“ _Steve?_ ”

  


Shuri’s voice, a little more cautious, a little more quiet, break his thoughts.

 

“Sorry, your highness.” He shakes himself out of it. “I haven’t thought of her in a while.”

 

“I just…”, he begins, and then he wonders if he should finish that sentence.

 

Shuri looks at him. Takes his hand in hers, beckons him to continue.

 

So he does.

 

“I wonder if she’d be proud. Or if she’d think I’d lost my path.”

 

(In his heart, he _knows_ what she’d think. And he’s not any happier for it.)

 

Shuri leans up. Kisses him on the cheek.

 

“She’d be _proud_ , Steve. Proud of the man you’ve become.”

 

Ordinarily, her touch would be enough to calm him down. Not this time around.

 

Instead, he swallows nervously. He can feel a sudden, cold sweat building.

 

“I’m not so sure about that, Shuri…”

 

Because Shuri _doesn’t_ know the truth, of exactly what he’s done today. Or what he’s had to do since everyone around them turned into dust. None of it.

 

His heart’s _racing_ , practically beating out of his damn chest.

 

This is **guilt**.

 

 _God_ , he hasn’t felt this way in forever. He thinks the feeling might just kill him, now. Stop his heart, right where he stands.

 

He’d deserve that, too. What else do sinners do?

  
  
  


“ _Hey_. Look at me.”

  
  
  


It’s not a request, but a command. Gentle, yet firm in the way only she can manage.

 

She draws closer. Squeezes his hand, in a touch of comfort, before she continues --

  


“We live in a world they never could have imagined. We are forced to make decisions they could _never_ have dreamed of.

  


And we _can’t_ save everyone. You said that once, remember?”

  


“I did.” he concedes. “I suppose you’re right.”

 

They can’t save anyone but themselves. _Of course_ she’s right.

 

Then again, she always has been. Always will be.

  


Just like that, he can feel his heartbeat slow. Settle into something steady, again.

  


“Perhaps _they_ were the lucky ones, hmm? No hard decisions for the dead.” she murmurs.

  


He imagines they were. And he envies them. But only a little.

  
  


Steve changes the subject.

  


“What about you, Shuri? Who are you thinking of tonight?”

  


Shuri exhales slowly. Gives him a small, wistful grin.

 

“ _Baba_ , mostly.” She shakes her head. “ _Bast_ , that feels strange. I haven’t talked about him in so long.”

 

She pauses a moment, as if to collect her thought, before she continues.

 

“He told me to use my gifts for good. Gave me the lab. He never told me I couldn’t do something. So nothing ever stopped me.”

 

She sighs now, a slight somberness creeping in.

 

“I miss him, Steve. _So much_. I wish I could ask him all my questions. He always had all the right answers.”

  
  


Now, it’s _his_ turn to comfort her. Steve squeezes her hand, in turn.

  
  


“It’s OK to miss him. Or your grandparents, or even your great-grandparents.They might not be here, but they live on through us.

 

We honor their memory, through our lives here. That’s all we can ever hope to do, anyways.”

 

Shuri turns, suddenly. She’s got a curious look on her face, and he can see a glimmer of something (is it _hope_?) in her eyes.

 

“Funny. That’s similar to something my great-grandmother used to say.”

 

Something in the air shifts. Steve wonders if he should ask.

 

“Oh. And what was that?”

 

Shuri moves in closer. Delicately inserts herself into his space, so she’s scarcely a breath away --

 

“As long as someone on earth _loves_ you, Steve -- no one ever really, _truly_ dies.”

  


Time comes to a halt. Steve’s brain stops working.

  
  


**What?**

  
  


He rasps out his next words, and he doesn’t even _care_ if he sounds like a madman, because now he simply _has_ to know --

  


“ _Shuri, do you …?_ ”

  


He never finishes his sentence. She cuts him off.

  


“ _Yes, Steve, I_ **_do_ **.” she whispers, like it’s a secret between them two.

  


(In that moment, with her voice so thick with emotion, he realizes it’s _true_.)

  


She leans in all the way, steals the air between them. And then her lips finally crash against his, and it’s inelegant and clumsy but it’s _perfect_ , perfect in every way.

  


Steve lets an arm snake around her waist. Pulls her in closer, kisses her just a bit harder.

 

Lets the rest of the world, the city and sky and stars around them fade away, so all that’s left is her.

 

 _Just_ her.

 

And for once -- well, for once, he’s never been more OK with that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... shit just got SO real! And it's about to get crazier! 
> 
> Did that surprise you? Confuse you? What the f#ck is going on?
> 
> Leave me a comment because it's about to be crazy in here...


	8. consummation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She loves him, and he loves her. And that's all that matters.

Steve carries her back to her room, bridal-style. The whole way back, he simply _can’t_ keep himself from kissing her, with more passion and urgency than would probably be appropriate outside of closed doors.

 

It’s risky, for sure. Someone could see them together like this.

 

Kissing, bumping into corners, laughing. Kissing again anyways.

 

But frankly? He doesn’t _care_.

 

She loves him, the way he’s always loved her.

 

That’s all that matters. All he could _possibly_ care about.

* * *

The first rays of light are streaming into the room by the time they get back. From her window, he can faintly make out the brilliant colors of the sunrise -- orange, pink, yellow. Colors, all more vibrant than he’s seen in a long, _long_ time.

 

He sets her down on her bed and then it’s like clockwork, the way they fit together. Her hands roam his body and his hands roam hers, tugging away at their clothes.

 

They take their time, this time. Steve can feel his blood pumping and his heart racing as he strips off her layers, re-discovers the girl beneath them.

 

And when he’s finally gotten every last bit off her, gotten her completely bare -- that’s when he _really_ gets to work.

 

Steve kisses every inch of her body. Savors the salty taste of the sweat building up on her skin. Drinks the sweetness pooling from between her legs until she falls apart, crying his name on her lips.

 

It’s only when she’s been reduced to quivering, shaking tangle of limbs beneath him, when she's all but ridden out the wave of her pleasure, that she knots a hand into his hair. Pulls him up to meet her face, fingers digging into his scalp so hard it's almost painful, and whispers a strangled, hoarse command -- 

 

 

“ _Fuck_ me, Rogers.”

 

 

And it’s in that moment that he knows --

 

He _loves_ her. God, he loves her. And he can fuck her, too.

 

So Steve presses into her. Takes it all in -- the scratch of her nails on his arms, the sigh that leaves her lips when he enters her, the feeling of _finally_ having her, the way he'd always dreamed. The way she moans his name against his mouth, something hot and urgent and utterly, truly _sincere_.

 

Then he's moving and she's moving with him, her breathy _I love you_ ’s so wonderfully at odds with the near-violent thrusts of his hips, the arch of her back as she takes him _deeper_ , deeper still.

 

The headboard slams into the wall. It’ll probably leave a mark.

 

He _growls_ , in spite of himself. Headboard or not -- he can’t be damned.

 

So he ignores it. Fucks her until she's right there on the edge with him, until she meets him halfway and pushes them both over, so that the headboard snaps in half and they're both seeing stars even as the sun rises.

 

And then, just like that, it's all over. Steve pulls her close, feels the race of her heart against his own. Draws her in for one last kiss.

 

Then they both collapse into her sheets, exchanging tired sighs and murmured declarations of love before they both fall asleep.

 

* * *

 

He wakes up a few hours later. Rolls over to find that she’s awake, too.

 

“Hi.” Her whisper is soft, almost, dare he say it, _shy_ , but in the most impossibly endearing way, the way only _she_ knows how.

 

“Hi.”, he offers back, because he’s an idiot and words aren’t coming to him right now. Not with that soft look on her face, directed at him and _only_ him.

 

“That was… _wow_.” she manages, trying and failing to keep a note of awe out of her voice.

 

A rare upper hand, for him. Steve takes full advantage of it.

 

“You sound surprised, your Highness. Are you saying the sex isn’t _always_ amazing?”

 

Shuri grins.

 

“It is…” she agrees, “...but that was something _else_.”

 

She bites her lower lip, and he has to suppress a groan just then because she _knows_ what she's doing to him and she doesn't give a damn about his well being. Not a one.

 

“I could get used to it.” she murmurs, leaning in close, and oh yes, Steve knows he's just _done_ for.

 

And really, he's all of two seconds away from helping her _get used to it_ some more, but it's at precisely that moment that her kimoyo buzzes with a Level-3 warning red light. Shuri gives a disappointed sigh and taps in begrudgingly, but leaves it on audio-only (a much-needed precaution, given their current state of undress).

 

“Someone is requesting your audience, your Highness.” Okoye’s voice comes off the bead, tight-laced with urgency.

 

“Can't it wait?” Shuri murmurs, not totally paying attention.

 

“I'm afraid not, your Highness.” the general replies, and this time, Steve detects an edge in her voice, one that puts him on guard.

 

In a fraction of an instant -- he _knows_ something is wrong.

 

But nothing, _nothing_ , could have prepared him for her next words --

 

  
  
“It's to do with Project Decima. Dr. Selvig says he needs to see you _right now_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I didn’t update for two months sjsjssj??? It really be like that sometimes. Here’s hoping this short update allows y’all to forgive me. We're getting there. Slow and steady, folks. Thanks for staying with me on this journey <3

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment! I love those, and this work was a lot of effort sjijqwdj. I'm [@wakandawinterprincess](wakandawinterprincess.tumblr.com) on tumblr if ya wanna hang!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [After the Mourning](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17785667) by [Knightsbridge07](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Knightsbridge07/pseuds/Knightsbridge07)
  * [ABOUT A BOY](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17856017) by [Knightsbridge07](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Knightsbridge07/pseuds/Knightsbridge07)




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